


PulsePoint

by queenofharts1984, StellaScully1984 (queenofharts1984)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha implied but not stated, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Can I just say it'll be kinky, Doing the ABO world my own way, Dubious Consent, Enemies to lover trope, F/M, I hate tagging sex, I hate the word slick-sorry, Kylo always falls in love first., Kylo is dominant, Lots of Sex, M/M, Mate Bite, Might have stronger tags later, Omega implied but not stated, Protective Kylo Ren, Rey is not submissive, Rey is on the run., Scenting, Virgin Rey, Will have a plot. I can't help it., alternative universe, voice control
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:21:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24138787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofharts1984/pseuds/queenofharts1984, https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofharts1984/pseuds/StellaScully1984
Summary: All Rey has to do is make it past the Nevada state line. Take her fake ID and start over. That's the plan and the only one she has.Complication. A broke down SUV on the side of a deserted highway with a driver standing out in the blazing sun needing a ride.Just stop and get a name for the tow truck, make sure there's no kids in the backseat.New plan. Be a good Samaritan. Call a tow truck. Get back to crossing state lines.But Rey isn't the only one on the run. And this stranger with dark eyes might end up proving that even the best laid plans can go perfectly awry.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Kylo Ren/Ben Solo
Comments: 52
Kudos: 145





	1. Clover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Art by Stavrogin80. Amazing job.

_Don’t ever pick up hitchhikers._

This was not sage advice from a parent—Rey didn’t have any of those, at least none that she could claim. The voice in her head was her brother’s, Poetry (though if you ever called him that, you better A, be his mother or B, plan on getting your ass kicked). On the street it was Po’Boy. He was technically Rey’s foster brother, but that didn’t matter. 

_If you get in a tight spot, play weak until they show you their throat. It don’t matter if you're scared sis, if it’s you or them, you always pick you._

There came more advice; Po’Boy, at times, was a walking Fortune Cookie. She was barely twenty and alone in a car on a barren stretch of the Nevada highway. It wasn’t the serial killer capital of the world, but she knew Reno was on the list.

The AC struggled to blow cool air, but she considered herself lucky it worked at all. The 77’ Chevy Nova wasn’t stolen, but it wasn’t exactly legit either. There was no title, and the previous owner—her bro—was serving six months for counterfeiting bills. Rust spots on the outside eating into the inside. A cracked back window adorned the rear and a moldy smell that no amount of Febreze could kill emanated from the interior.

The heat radiating through the windshield was making her skin stick to the plastic seat. It was only 11 AM, and it would only get worse. The sun’s temperature didn’t warm so much as broil. 

A pair of fuzzy gold dice swayed from the rear-view mirror, conjuring up a memory. 

_“You bought lucky dice?” Po’Boy had laughed, watching her walk out of the dollar store with them. “You the only girl on this block who don’t need ‘em. Half this town called you Clover before you were fourteen.”_

_She’d ignored him, and when they got to her car, she could see him smirking as she opened the driver door to put them inside._ _“I just have a good sixth sense,” she countered. “Don’t know why it hasn’t rubbed off on you yet.”_

_Po’Boy, with his dark curly hair that always hid his eyes, had shrugged and leaned against her door frame before lighting up. “Wasn’t my gift. I can fix broken things.”_

_“Like my car?”_

_He took a drag and looked her over. “Like your car,” he said, smoke furling between his teeth as he smiled. “Now, you need to stop hangin’ with Rose. That lucks gonna run out with her.”_

He’d been right, but Rey hadn’t wanted to admit it then. 

While Po’Boy was her older brother with a penchant for getting in trouble, Rose was her younger sister who’d, for most her life, been as sweet as her given name. That had all changed the day their foster mom of ten years, Maz, had up and died. 

Po’Boy had already been living on his own, and the state workers hadn’t looked too hard for Rey. She’d been crying in her brother’s truck as he drove away from the cemetery. 

_“You ain’t gonna find another mom that good,” he’d said as they left Maz’s simple gravestone where they'd laid flowers. “Trust me on this. Duck out of the system. My new place ain’t bad. You’ll adapt to its charm. Finish school, no dropping. I told the guys on the block you ain’t touchable, and they won’t want to piss me off, so you’ll be safe.”_

_“But--we didn’t take Rose?”_

_“Rose don’t want to stay here, I tried to reason with her earlier. But Maz was her first home. She don’t know the creepers. She don’t know how bad homes can be.”_

_“Are you sure I should stay? Red’s already treating me like I have fuckin’ fleas.”_

_“Armie’s never had siblings. Don’t hold it against him, Clover. He’s never been taught how to care.”_

_“I can’t believe you guys already did the scar thing. That’s--”_

_“I love him, and I love you. Got that? Just give it a few months, Armie will come around.”_

Red had never “come around.” Rey had tried, more so than she had with anyone else to get along. She was positive every day she’d lived there, her brother’s boyfriend had been hoping something bad happened to her—lightning striking her on a clear day, a brain aneurysm, maybe even a stray bullet. Petty jealousy, maybe, but there was a deep hatred rooted in Red against Rey for reasons Rey couldn’t understand. 

A dead rattlesnake lay up ahead, or at least she thought it was dead. It was too much in the middle to avoid and she rumbled over it like a speed bump. 

At least she didn’t have to see Red’s expression of elation when he realized tonight after work, he had the flat to himself again.The prick would probably drink some of that cheap box wine he loved and toast to her misery. She glanced at the backseat of her beater where her whole life, or what she could cram, was stuffed inside two black trash bags. 

Her cell lay on the passenger seat. No bars. Rose had stopped calling her four hours ago, and she probably wouldn’t again--maybe not ever. Should she toss the phone? It was a cheap Walmart pay-per-month flip phone. 

A Mountain Dew sat in her cup holder. Her addiction--her _only_ addiction. One can in the morning, one in the afternoon, and usually one in the evening. She unscrewed the lid and drank deeply, the liquid was tepid and flat, but it would keep the caffeine headache at bay.

Thankfully, soda was cheap because she was going to be broke if she couldn’t find an under the table job in a week. There were five tattered tens in her pocketbook, a roll of twenties hidden under her seat, and a single “emergency” hundred tucked inside her worn copy of _The Great Gatsby_. 

She’d given her can of quarters and one-dollar bills to Rose. The money was for bus fare and maybe—if promises can be believed, and Rey had her doubts--Rose would finally check into a treatment center.

Her speedometer said 90 despite the speed limit being 75. As much as she wanted to get out of town as fast as possible, she couldn’t afford to get pulled over so she lifted off the gas a tad and let it settle on 80. 

Drumming her hands on the wheel, she started humming the classics Maz enjoyed. The Chevy had no radio, just a gaping slot her brother usually put his pack of cigarettes in. The only sound that filled the car was road noise and her own self-concert. 

She was half-way through humming American Pie when she spotted him.

At first, he was only a shapeless dark form standing partially in her lane. A red SUV was off the road beside him. As she drove closer, she understood what took him off the road: fresh tire marks weaved back and forth across two lanes along with bits of rubber from a blown tire. Probably going too fast on hot asphalt, and now he was stuck, Rey thought annoyed. 

She squinted, trying to make out the driver. No way was she giving him a ride. She would write down his plate number. If he didn’t look too sketchy, _maybe_ stop long enough for his name. He would probably be furious, but she couldn’t take any chances, or have one more complication in her life. This was more than anyone else would do for him, she reasoned with herself. 

Tapping the brake enough to drop below 30, she was able to get a good look at him and his rig. 

“No fucking way,” she mouthed to him, knowing he couldn’t hear her. “Sorry.”

The guy had to be six foot, maybe taller with broad shoulders and a barrel chest that was imposing even from a distance. She couldn’t quite make out facial features as he was shielding his eyes with his other hand, no doubt to watch her approach, but she thought he was maybe thirty-ish. 

Why did she have to be the first car? _Fuck—just get a plate number._ _He’ll give you the finger no doubt, but he isn’t going to die_ , she told herself.

The SUV looked new; the cherry-red paint sparkling in the sunlight. At least he would be easy to spot. It was then that she noticed the stickers on the SUV’s back window.

BABY ON BOARD glared at her, along with the decal stick people showing a dad, mom, two kids and a baby. It even had a bumper sticker that read, “I brake for garage sales.” It couldn’t get any more cliché middle-class family than that.

Not picking up a stranded guy was one thing...but kids, maybe even a baby? Guilt made her slow to a stop and put her Chevy in park.

She watched him lazily approach. The hairs on her neck prickled as he came closer to her side of the vehicle. It wasn’t his size, but his dark eyes that were the intimidating factor. They studied her with such intensity she forgot for a moment that she’d only intended to roll the window halfway down. Instead, she had rolled the window as far as it would go, stuck at a quarter up, another fun quirk her car had.

“Thanks for pulling over, miss.” He didn’t touch her car but leaned close enough for her to see the speckle of beauty marks on his face and neck. “I was getting worried, with the heat and all.”

She tried to smile, but the warning bells now clamored like a siren alerting of a coming hurricane. Her sixth sense wasn’t usually wrong. “I’ll call you a tow truck,” she said, and tentatively put her hand on the gear shift. “What’s your name?” 

There was a flicker of a smile on his face, as if he found her discomfort amusing. “Sorry, am I scaring you?”

“No, just need a name so I can call you a tow truck.” she glanced at the SUV and saw through the tinted window what looked to be the outline of a car seat. She couldn’t see enough if there was a child in it, but she thought she saw something. “Do you have kids in the back?”

He glanced at his vehicle and, to her irritation, curled his fingers over the truncated inch of glass of her open window.

She’d started to work up a snappy comment when she noticed the absence of a scar on his neck, and she couldn’t detect another’s scent on him. 

She glanced at his left hand; it didn’t possess a wedding ring, nor the shadow of one. Further up on his wrist were black inked hearts; six of them, two of which were faded, and one that looked rather fresh. Her throat went dry, and she could hear the blood rushing in her ears.

She’d seen tats like that before. Some gang members liked tear drops, some of them preferred hearts, but they both meant the same thing: kills.

His eyes followed her gaze to his wrist, the smile fading from his lips. When he looked back up meeting her gaze again, they understood each other


	2. Kylo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and kudos.

She moved first, trying to push the Chevy into drive. His large arm shot through the window tearing her hand away. Survival kicked in. She grasped his forearm and bit hard enough to draw blood.

He cursed. But instead of retreating like she’d hoped, shoved towards her mouth knocking her head against the seat and trapping her as he angled his body inside further. His free hand found her keys, twisted them in the ignition, and yanked them out. Only then did he focus on her, her teeth still sunk into his skin. 

He released the pressure holding her back. She tasted copper on her tongue as she spit, wiping her tongue and mouth with the back of her hand.

“Get out,” he ordered.

She had a gun. The center console had seemed a good place, hidden within the fabric of a handkerchief. Now it was as far away as the moon. She was going to die. She was going to die alone in the desert. 

The angry red bite mark on his forearm came into focus as he leaned once more through the window. “Come on kitten, I ain’t gonna hurt you over the bite.”

There wasn’t much choice. With shaking fingers, she unbuckled herself. Before sliding out, she grabbed her purse and phone, hoping he wouldn’t take it. Life was difficult enough without having to scrounge up a new ID and papers. Po’Boy wouldn’t be able to get her new ones. 

“T-take the Chevy.”

“You don’t have a gun in there?” He nodded towards the handbag. “Don’t lie, I’ll know, and it won’t go well if you try something.”

She shook her head. “Pepper spray and a knife.” She answered, not telling him about the small handgun under her copy of  _ The Great Gatsby _ . She gave him a wide girth hoping he’d go. She glanced at the SUV and another thought came to her. “Are-are there kids in there?”

He didn’t answer right away, but held out his hand for her purse, and she reluctantly handed it over. Should she run? The ground was flat on either side of the highway, he’d catch her quickly if she fled and it probably would just piss him off. 

“Stole it from a casino parking lot, no kids inside.” He retrieved from her purse the two items she’d fessed to. The blade he flicked open and seemed impressed before he flicked it shut and put it in his back pocket. He threw the pepper spray across the highway. Well, at least he wouldn’t use it on her. 

“Do you have kids, a husband?” he was rummaging through her pocketbook, and her hopes of keeping the money went away when he grabbed the tens out. “Girlfriend?” 

Here was her chance. “I’m engaged, going to get married soon.” She hoped that maybe that would keep him from touching her. “My fiancé’s a--”

“Let me guess, a police officer,” he said sarcastically. “You might of tried a better story.” He glanced at his bleeding arm. “Fuck that hurts. The SUV has a first aid kit in the back, grab it.”

When she stood frozen, he huffed. “Kitten, one thing you need to know, I don’t like to repeat myself.”

The guy would take her car—fine. Already, she’d signed it off in her mind as a loss. Her stomach twisted in knots, but she managed to make her legs move. He hadn’t attacked her or touched her. But she was still afraid.

_ “Fear, Clover, isn’t a bad thing,” _ Po’ Boy’s voice whispered in her brain.  _ “Pumps the heart, makes mom’s lift cars off of kids. Remember that. Fear is a weapon.” _

This wasn’t her first rodeo, and she needed to make sure it wasn’t her last. She would play whatever part he wanted her to. Maybe he had a moral code. It wasn’t far-fetched; even on the streets she’d learned not every guy that was on the wrong side of the law was a rapist-murdering-low-life.

Opening the back door, she felt the AC blast her with ice cold air—the kind her own Chevy would never achieve. A teddy bear, the shadow she’d seen, was strapped in the car seat. The interior was clean. Whoever owned this car didn’t like dirt. The first aid kit was under the driver side. It was so large she had to pull extra hard to dislodge it. 

The kit wasn’t cheap, it had three layers that opened like a tackle box. On the bottom was gauze, sterile dressing, and bacitracin; not that she cared if the bite got infected, served him right if it did. 

There was a pocket flashlight and—bingo! A small suture kit. Maybe the owner was a nurse, but whoever they were, she was in their debt. A scalpel with a wicked end would be a good weapon in a pinch. If it came to that. She shoved the weapon in her jean pocket and snapped up the rest of the items. 

“I have the--” she slipped out of the backseat and came face to face with his chest. “Fuck me.”

He quirked an eyebrow at that, and she stuttered, “Here’s your stuff.” When he held his wrist up, she gritted her teeth. He smirked and watched her fumble with ripping open the bacitracin and smearing it on the perfect circle of her bite mark. At least if he killed her, there would be evidence. The thought unbidden made her shiver slightly.

“What’s wrong, kitten?”

She put a dressing on next, keeping the silence. Don’t engage and don’t make eye contact. If he was going to hurt her, the less he thought of her as a threat the better. She bit her lip and started wrapping the gauze around until the spool had run out.

She didn’t look up, just stared at the ground.  _ Please go away. Please, please just go away. _

“Don’t want to talk? It’s going to be a long road trip.”

She took a step back. “I’ll wait, you-you can have the car and the stuff. It’s nothing I can’t replace.”

“Kitten, get in the Chevy. There are worse monsters than me out here, I promise.”

There was no place to run. His long legs would have her down in a second. Survival pure and simple. She took a deep breath. Get out of this alive. Going anywhere with him would increase her chances of becoming a missing poster. 

Sex would hurt for many reasons, but if that’s all he wanted, she’d get it over with. 

“I’ll do it. Right now. I won’t fight you. Or report it. Just pull out before you're done, okay?”

She met his gaze. He looked her over as if considering it, before taking a step closer. One of his hands cupped her cheek, and she tried not to shrink back as he drew her near in a gesture that felt intimate. He was handsome in an odd sort of way. A long angular face and lips that were almost too large, but somehow looked good on him. 

His thumb parted her lips. She knew what he was doing. For a second, she considered biting the thick appendage, but instead closed her eyes and waited. A second later, she tasted him, there was no choice. It was a calming thing, at least that’s what Po’Boy did to Red when they fought, and he wanted to make up. 

She unconsciously inhaled deeply. There was a rumble in his chest that made her blush. Fucker was purring. If he thought a few cheap tricks were going to win her over, he could kiss her ass. 

She thought he might kiss her then and that seemed worse than the coming rape.

“Not yet, and not like this,” he whispered in her ear. “Who are you running from, kitten?”

“I’m not running,” she hissed.

“Really, you have a driver license that says Sara Brooks. I searched your car. Took two fucking seconds to find the gun and the other fake ID’s.”

She tried to pull away, but his hands were like steel. “What’s it matter to you who I am?”

“A girl with no name. Will anyone miss you?”

The hairs on her neck stood up. She reached down slowly to her hidden weapon as his lips came near enough to brush her own. His fingers trailed into her hair and she parted her lips encouraging him. 

His mouth didn’t kiss her so much as claim her. It was a kiss that burned and bruised, yet the fingers in her hair were gentle. He broke away, not far. “Alone, so alone. It’s okay. You’re in trouble, aren’t you? No bruises on you, so I don’t think it’s an ex. Your scent is clean. It’s actually quite nice.”

She tried to block him out but felt her eyes sting. He was getting under her skin. She could taste him on her lips, and it was doing a good job at screwing with emotions. His pheromones must be strong. She felt a tear slip out, but it was his fingers that brushed it away.

“It’s okay. My pretty little kitten with the sharp claws and the large brown eyes, needing me.”

“You don’t know me. Fuck off.” The biting tone tore from Rey

“No one’s searching for you. No one cares about you. You’re a no one.”

“I have Po’Boy and Rose…” she blubbered.

“Where are they?” His voice shifted, just slightly. “Where are they?”

“Jail and r-rehab...don’t do that. D-don’t do that voice.”

“It wouldn’t work if you weren't receptive.” He nuzzled her slightly, touching the pulse point at her throat. “You know I can take whatever I want.”

She struck outwards. She’d hoped for an eye, to blind him enough he’d clutch it and let her grab her keys in his pocket. The scalpel was surprisingly sharp, and when he cried out in pain, all she saw was a red line across his cheek. Not an eye, but he clutched it all the same.

She followed with a knee to the groan and when he doubled over, she thrust her hand in his pocket for the keys. Her fingers easily found them.

It was about the only thing that went right in the next second. 

He backhanded her away. In hindsight, she realized he could’ve done worse. The blow was enough to disable her, but not enough to hurt. She tumbled in the dirt, losing the weapon and the keys. She had a scrape on her elbow, and her ribs hurt. Coughing from the dust, she rolled on her side to see the keys a foot away from her head. 

Shit. Scrambling to her knees, she crawled towards them, only to feel his shadow on her back. She managed to twist around and kick before he lunged to grab her. 

He dodged her foot. 

A free second was all she had, and she tried once more for the keys. Her hand pawed for them, found them, and she pushed up off the ground.

He was behind her. His fingers clawed for her, and she felt the wind of them on her back. She wasn’t going to make it. She looked at the highway and saw hope.

A car was coming. Not just any car. 

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath.

As if on cue, the lights went blue and red.

She was so relieved that when he stepped beside her, she almost didn’t care. He wiped his chin and the blood that trickled off it.

“Kitten, this is going to go one of two ways. You are going to tell him I’m your boyfriend. I’ll make up some shit about the cut, and you're going to smile and nod.”

He had a smile on his face that didn’t match his tone. “I don’t like killing innocent people, but if you don’t play the good girlfriend, I’m going to have to.” 

The cruiser was slowing to a stop. She could see the officer now, but his eyes were obscured by sunglasses. 

He waved as if glad to see the cop. Rey glanced at him, wondering if she should run. As if reading her thoughts, he let out a low growl in his chest as warning.

“Usually, cops on patrol are young. I know cause my dad was a cop. If he’s stuck on this shitty road, I bet it’s his first year on the force. He won’t get out of this alive unless I let him.”

Rey wanted to believe he was bluffing. The officer's grim face peered at them. He probably had her pistol. She’d be in the middle of it unless she could separate herself away from them.

The door opened, and as her would-be-kidnapper had deduced, a young man stepped out. Not only youthful, but he wore a short with a mop of yellow hair with terrible sideburns to go with it. The officer didn’t smile, which was good, at least he was approaching them with caution. 

“Afternoon, you folks in some trouble?”

Rey felt a hand on her back. A warning. She smiled almost reflexively. 

“None, sir. I ran my SUV off the road avoiding a coyote, and my girlfriend was nice enough to come pick me up.”

The officer looked at her for confirmations. Something told Rey one word and he’d draw his gun,  _ one  _ single step back, maybe even a plea with her eyes. 

Her voice was gone. It was worse than gone, her throat was sandpaper, her tongue thick, useless.

The officer took a step forward. “You, you look familiar. Wait—I know who you are.” His hand moved suddenly on his weapon. 

There was a blur of movement, a hand shoved her to the ground.

The gunshot wasn’t loud, in fact, it was the screaming that made her look up. The stranger was no longer beside her. To her horror, he’d crossed the distance to where the officer knelt holding his hand that appeared to be missing two fingers.

The officer’s gun was on the ground now, and the stranger kicked it away. “Did you call us in?” He shouted, raising his weapon, making the screaming cop grit his teeth to deal with the threat.

The cop raised his arms in surrender, shivering in pain as the injured right hand bled freely. “Man, you don’t want to do this.”

“You’re right. Did you call us in?”

“Standard. I--goddamn this hurts. I…reported two stranded drivers.” He grimaced. “Listen. You kill me, and you gonna get the chair when they catch you. You’re already in enough trouble for aiding and abetting her, but that’s not going to be life. Let’s talk this over, man. Let’s be smart about this.”

The stranger glanced at Rey, confused. “She’s the one you recognized?”

“Station put an APB out on her an hour ago. Killed a--Jesus, Mary and Joseph--killed a guy in cold blood. Can I put my hands down?” He did anyway, before nodding to Rey. “She’s wanted for the first-degree murder of Unkar Plutt.”

“Hmm, full of surprises today.” He gave the officer’s injury a sympathetic glance. “Thankfully, kitten’s gun is a piece of shit, or I’d have blown your hand off.”

Rey watched him haul the officer in the backseat of the cruiser. The guy was in too much pain to fight. She stood blankly watching and waiting.

Only when the stranger had made his way back to her did she realize her missed opportunity. The keys in her white knuckled hand could’ve been in the ignition of her Chevy.

On the side of the road he’d looked intimidating, now with blood caked to his face, and his t-shirt soaked red, he looked terrifying. Her gun was in his hand, but he didn’t point it at her. 

“You on drugs?”

The question caught her by surprise, but she recovered, shaking her head “no.”

“Why did you kill him?”

She crossed her arms. She didn’t owe him anything.

“Okay, have it your way. Keys and I’ll be on my way.” He held out his hand.

Prison, that’s where she was going to go. Had she really thought her shit-for-brains idea was going to work? No. Of course not. So, it was either prison or the strange guy with some moral code. It was an easy decision.

“To save my sister.”

She handed him the keys. 

He smirked. “Figured.” He walked towards the Chevy. “Let’s go.”

“It’s a straight road, we’ll never make it.” 

“Why, because he called it in?” he laughed and rhetorically questioned Rey. “Do you think I’d be wasting time talking to you if that was the case?” 

She followed him to her car, hating him, but at the same time, finding no other option.

She opened the passenger door and slid in. He had to adjust the seat and even then, he seemed too large to be comfortable in it. When he keyed the ignition on, the AC sputtered a miserable burst of air. He glanced at the gas gauge and sighed in irritation before pulling out on the highway. “You broke?”

“No, I mean yes. I only have a few hundred,” she admitted.

“First rule, never let your gas tank get this empty.” He tapped the gage that read a quarter of a tank. 

“Rules? I don’t even know your name.”

“I know a place. Two days, maybe three, we’ll need to lay low.” He touched the wound on his face, wincing. “This injury is going to make hiding harder.”

“You ignored my question.”

“Pick something.”

“What?”

“Pick a name.”

She looked at him baffled. “Are you mentally insane?” It struck her then that he might be. 

He saw her appraising him again and rolled his eyes. “No more than you. Come on, I don’t care what your name is, in fact, kitten fits you. So, what’ll it be?”

“Why won’t you tell me?”

He was quiet for a long minute. His fingers reached absently for a radio that wasn’t there. When he noticed, he shook his head and muttered something that sounded like “go-figure.” 

Rey decided he wasn’t going to answer her, so she stared out her window. 

“My mother,” he said, making her look back at him. He didn’t hold her gaze, returning his eyes to the road. “She told me on the day I went to jail I was dead to her, that she wished I’d never been born.” He shrugged. “I guess I don’t want to hear it.”

“How long were you in prison for?”

“I never made it that far.” He let both hands rest lazily on the wheel. “Told you, kitten, I read people well. I caught the guard at the right moment and busted out of the back of the transport van.”

Not that she could judge, and he said he didn’t kill innocent people...but she was afraid to ask. He tilted his head and his eyes looked her up and down once before he snorted.

“You read like a book. Can’t say it, can you? What did I do? That’s what you want to know.” He laughed darkly. “Maybe we should start with what crimes haven’t I done?” 

The hard look in his eyes softened when he saw her flinch. “I’ll be nice, kitten, you’ve had a rough day. Life in prison, no parole, and worse yet, I didn’t even do the murder. Not that one at least.”

“What happened?”

“My dad’s good heart got him in trouble.” 

“You killed—” she corrected when she saw him shoot her a glare. “They think you killed your dad?”

“I fit the bill. It wasn’t even a trial, but a slammed shut verdict from the start. My own mother told them I did it,” he said bitterly. “Now, I gotta figure out if I want revenge or to just move on.”

Several miles passed in mutual silence. Despite the situation, her eyes started to feel heavy. She rubbed them, trying to focus ahead and noticed a street sign in front of a dirt road that seemed to go nowhere into the desert. The faded green paint almost made the words unreadable, but as they drew closer, she made the letters out.

“Kylo”

He took the suggestion. “Good as any.”

Suddenly very tired, she yawned broadly. He glanced over at her. “It’s the letdown. You’re not used to it.”

“Letdown?” She rested her head against the seat.

“You’ve been on pure adrenaline, I probably pushed you to the max. But now it’s leaving your system. You’re crashing.”

He grabbed her half-filled Mountain Dew bottle and drank the entire contents before throwing the empty container in the back. “Sleep, I’ll wake you in a few hours.”

She didn’t argue, her eyes watching the blurring white stripes on the road. “Why me?”

Did he understand the question? She wasn’t sure he did, not completely.

“Because I just don’t care anymore, and today for the first time, I did.”

It was as good an explanation as any. Maybe one she could relate to. Closing her eyes, she slept.


	3. Safe House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the comments and kudos. 
> 
> I also want to say thank you to Malevolent Reverie. In her fantastic Reylo Fic "Lost and Sold" she introduces an "Alpha voice" that has to be obeyed. Which I found not only hot, but something I wanted to incorporate in my own fic.

_ “Don’t hurt her.” _

_ Rose was shouting. _

_ Rey was going to die. Of that she was certain. The pillow was taking away her oxygen, and the knees on her chest were taking away the rest of her air. Her hands didn’t try to claw anymore. Rose, you stupid girl, run. Just run. _

_ Her chest heaved one last time and didn’t rise again. Now, it just burned, the lack of air creating an almost drowning effect. This is dying. This terrible last struggle of the flesh. _

_ I don’t want to die. Please. I don’t want to die. _

_ But no one could hear her, and she couldn’t even scream.  _

_ Please _ …

“Hey.”

Rey jerked awake. The sound of rain drummed above her, reverberating with his deep voice. It felt as if someone had thrown her a lifesaver and pulled her from the darkness. She blinked the sleep from her eyes. 

The windshield wipers were beating rapidly on her Chevy’s front window. At first, she thought the whistle was coming from the air conditioning vents, until she realized it was her, her throat constricted as if Unkar Plutt’s body was still strangling the life out of her. 

“Hey, it’s okay. Deep breaths. Okay? Deep breaths.”

Her vision pulsed from lack of oxygen. The dream was gone, but the nightmare still had a hold of her. The seatbelt on her neck pressed hard and locked as she tried to lean forward quickly. 

“I need--I need air.” Her fingers found the seat belt buckle. The pressure released around her throat. 

“Head between knees,” the stranger’s calm voice instructed her. No, that wasn’t right, he had a name. Kylo. She obliged, unable to do anything else. Her hands cradled her head as she tried to stop hyperventilating. 

“That’s it kitten, that’s it.” He placed a comforting hand between her shoulder blades. “You’re okay, you’re safe.”

The last line she wasn’t sure about, but she hadn’t the strength to retort. He didn’t let up off her back, drawing slow circles with his hand. The rain’s steady beat droned on. Unkar was dead, and she was alive. The thought should bring elation, but it knotted in her stomach making her want to retch. 

After a few minutes, the worst of it dissipated. She straightened in her seat. Kylo’s hand slid to her neck, his thumb massaging it gently. 

“I’m good, thanks,” she said, shrugging a bit for him to get the hint and stop touching her.

He returned both hands to the wheel. “You can tell me about it tonight.” He approached a red light and slowed the Chevy to a stop. 

Tonight? Without a clock, Rey had no idea the time. Lightning flashed like a polaroid picture, punctuating the blackened sky. The downpour caused water to cascade down the road pushing debris into the street drains. 

A single gas station was in front of them. The bright yellow and white sign letting her know fuel was 2.34 for regular and 2.44 for diesel. 

“Where are we?”

“Utah.” The light turned green. “We’ll be at a safe crash spot here soon.”

She studied him. He was now shirtless--the bloody t-shirt either in the backseat or discarded along the highway. His skin was surprisingly bare of tats; gang members usually looked like meat billboards with their array of body graffiti. However, there were plenty of scars to leave little doubt of his violent past. A particular nasty one ran along his chest and laced under his armpit. 

“What’s this safe place?” She tore her gaze away from his body and tried to keep her eyes on the passing scenery. Landmarks would be helpful when she found the right moment to ditch him. 

“I have connections.”

He didn’t elaborate, putting his blinker on to take a side street. Maybe she should ask him to stop here and let her out. If he gave her enough for bus fare, she could wear a hoodie, hide her face, and try for one of the northern states.

“Um...no hard feelings about earlier. Could you just drop me off?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady. He tilted his head slightly, regarding her request. “If I could keep my money, you can have everything else.” He raised an eyebrow to that, and she hurriedly added. “At least let me have a twenty.”

Instead of answering her, one hand left the wheel and hit the car locks. 

Shit.

The logical side of her brain told her that she could manually pop the latch on her side. She almost breathed a sigh of relief. She could—fuck. Her heart stopped. The small peg was missing. Kylo smirked, watching her horrified reaction to finding he’d tampered with her door.

“No hard feelings.” He threw her words back to her and winked. 

The sky cracked again with a split bolt that stretched all the way down the horizon. The air inside felt charged as if the next bolt would strike in the cab. Help was not going to find her; the paved road was taking them into the backcountry. Out her window were fence posts that stretched for miles. 

He slowed to take another turn. The pavement ended, and he started down a gravel road. Fuck, this wasn’t good. The canopy of trees on either side were thick enough to kept the rain from hitting the hood. Where the hell were they going? 

_ Think _ , she forced herself to take in her situation.  _ There’s no one here but you two _ . If he adds “friends,” the likelihood of escaping was going to become slim. He’s buckled in.  _ That’s a plus _ . If she yanked the wheel hard, he might lose control enough so she could hit the lock button and take off into the foliage. It was worth a shot.

“Stay put, kitten.”

He didn’t look at her. That was the fucking maddening part of it. He’d read her without even turning his head slightly, and he’d switched his vocal cords to a low baritone. It didn’t freeze her but locked her muscles enough that she complied.

Overcoming the effect wasn’t hard, it was like touching an electric fence, the jolt got her attention. Women could use the voice, it wasn’t just men who could be assholes, but most didn’t have the talent to throw it like a snare. 

Red had once tried it on her while half drunk on wine. She’d just come home from work. He’d put his hands on both sides of her door frame and bared his teeth at her. She’d told him to fuck off and tried to push him out of the way. 

In response, her brother’s boyfriend had lowered his pitch,  _ “Get your hands off me, bitch.” _ He’d tried, but it hadn’t worked. 

The only  _ bitch _ to go down had been him, and to her disgust, he’d thrown up all over her bedroom’s carpet. The next day, he’d claimed no memory, and Po’Boy had laughed it off as nothing but a spat.

_ “Come on, Clover, it’s funny. Don’t give me that glare. Armie’s ribs are bruised, you made your point. I wish he’d use it on me more, it’s sexy as fuck. You’ll like it one day. If you ever settle down.” _

No, it was not sexy, it was some predatory bullshit evolution should’ve already phased out. She rubbed her arms as if to ward off any further commands. Fucking biology. Kylo couldn’t control her, not really, but it was uncomfortable. She was an uncycled female; her hormones in stasis waiting for a mate. This made her less pliable, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t change that arrangement. 

He didn’t talk to her again as he drove down a road that turned from gravel into overgrowth. Her Nova wasn’t an all-terrain vehicle. The wheels dipped down low into a rut, and she hit her head on the ceiling. “Shit.” 

“Wouldn’t have happened if you’d put your seatbelt back on,” he admonished and hit another rut so hard she smacked the roof again.

“You did that on purpose,” she hissed, rubbing her bruised skull. “Is this where you murder me?”

He laughed. “Another mile, and you’ll have a nice place to cool down. We’ll talk, set some ground rules.” He waved at the road. “It’s going to get worse, hopefully this piece of junk will make it. If not, we’ll walk. So, buckle up.”

Pride almost made her disobey. He was right, the road did get worse. In fact, if he’d not been driving with purpose, she’d have thought them lost. 

She wasn’t sure how much longer the drive took; she was too busy trying not to fly out of her seat. Once they finally arrived, she caught a glimpse of the house. It was a shock to see that his friend's place was a two-story farmhouse. The place wasn’t run down, it was painted white with a rustic stone base that looked almost fairytale-ish.

Maybe this wasn’t a friend’s, maybe they were going to surprise some sweet couple and break in. There was a Ford truck parked out front, and a cat that laid on the front step.

“Who lives here?”

“Depends on the day,” he answered cryptically, pulling next to the Ford. However, before he unbuckled, he shot her a warning look. “Do not piss me off in the next five minutes, you got that?”

She didn’t need further explanation for what that meant. When he unlocked the Chevy, she tried her best to curtail every instinct she had to hit the ground running.  _ Fear is a weapon _ . Slamming her car door, she followed him to the front step. The rain had stopped, and the earth smelled of fresh wet soil that squished under her feet as she walked.

An orange cat with two white paws had to be nudged off the step. Kylo rolled his eyes, and it was clear he and the cat had history. It yawned and stretched, taking it’s time before rubbing on his leg and hopping off onto the grass below.

“Wookie is sixteen years old; keep expecting one day to find that furball’s bones waiting for me,” he muttered. Instead of knocking, he simply turned the knob. “Hey, Chew. You home?”

A TV was playing somewhere in the house. There was a faint smell of tobacco in the air as well as cinnamon. The aroma was pleasant on the nostrils, making her step in and draw a deep breath. Rey took stock of the home. It was tidy, a sign instructed them to doff their shoes (which she almost ignored till Kylo shucked his), there were no family photos on the wall, but at least a half dozen silver framed pictures depicting birds that had been stitched on to fabric. It was nothing like she was expecting; there wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere to be seen. Despite the circumstances, she felt almost welcomed…almost. 

The floor creaked under their feet as they made their way to the living room, and Kylo, while not nervous, had a hand outward to her, keeping her a few paces back.

“Chew, it’s Be--Me.”

A TV sat against the far wall inside a stand. A VCR blinked underneath it, and something she assumed was a stereo rested beside it. The thing was dated, probably the eighties. The show on the screen was a rerun, Golden Girls, one Maz used to like. Two cream colored couches mirrored each other. They were the expensive kind she’d probably never be invited to sit on. 

She was about to ask if Kylo’s granny lived here when she noticed two enormous hairy arms draped over the armrest of the matching recliner. The knuckles resting on the floor could rival bear paws. Holy fuck, how big was this guy?

Kylo, if anything, looked semi-relieved. He bent down and picked up an empty growler Rey hadn’t noticed while gaping. “You’re drinking has always impressed me, uncle.” 

The “uncle” didn’t respond. Rey wasn’t brave enough to step next to him for a better look, so she walked behind one of the two couches and took a peek.

The largest man Rey had ever seen laid sleeping in front of her. His lips puckered into a snort as he slept blissfully unaware of his new company. Four hundred pounds, maybe five—Christ, he had to be close to seven feet tall. His red and brown beard was thick and woven in a braid down to his pot-bellied waist. She’d have been terrified if he hadn’t the start of an afghan in his lap and a sewing basket with yarn and needles resting at his feet.

Surely, a man who knitted and had pictures of birds all over his walls wouldn’t be mixed up in criminal activity. Kylo may have underestimated his control on her and perhaps hoped by fear alone she’d go with whatever story he told.  _ Good fucking luck _ . She’d sing like a canary if this relative would help her.

“I’m starving, you?” He glanced around the room before reaching to take the controller on his uncle's lap and turn the TV off. “He’s a good cook, probably has a casserole we can split.”

Rey nodded. It was a bit surreal to make her way to the kitchen with him. They didn’t belong next to such nice things. When he’d said safe house, she’d assumed they’d be in some seedy trailer or renting a motel. While she tried to keep on her toes, the place was lulling her in with a false sense of security, making her feel like Hansel and Gretel must have when they found themselves presented with a house made of candy. 

As if to reinforce the thought, fresh baked cookies waited for them on the counter, which explained the cinnamon that permeated. Snickerdoodles and oatmeal raisin. Her mouth watered, but she didn’t reach for one, unsure if that was allowed. Kylo noticed her hesitation and grabbed a handful. “Don’t be shy, kitten, take a couple.”

The temptation was too great, and she picked one of each. Kylo grinned, watching her take a bite and mouth “Oh my God.” For a moment, she forgot everything but the experience of eating her first homemade cookie that didn’t include the word processed.

He ducked his head, opening the fridge. The appliance was old, so old that the white and blue pattern placed it somewhere between JFK and Nixon. The inside hummed and he pulled out a pitcher of tea, handing it to her, and then, as he’d promised, a casserole in a Martha Stewart pan.

“His size lets him cook for an army. Some days, I used to come out here, and he’d have six pies on the table.” He moved around the kitchen as one who’d been there plenty of time, fishing out plates and silverware. He motioned for her to sit as he scooped food from the pan.

“Cold food is good for me. I could warm yours up if it matters.”

“It’ll be fine.”

Once again, there was a small truce between them. However, she had no rose-colored glasses about the mechanism of it. She was behaving, so he was pretending he wasn’t holding her hostage. She took the offered plate and sat down, scooting the doily placemat away, not wanting to get it dirty. 

Before pouring himself iced tea, he filled her glass. “It’s on the sweet side, I can add some water to it, if you like.”

It was too sweet, but she didn’t want to feel like they were playing house. She drank and ignored him, focusing on the food, which was tuna fish, noodles and topped with buttery crackers. She wolfed it down and wondered if five-star restaurants had dinners this good. Kylo rose and, without asking, dished her another serving.

The silence stretched and she could feel his eyes on her watching her eat. Unable to just stare at her plate, she finally lifted her head and tried some idle talk. “This is a nice place, does your uncle live here alone?”

Kylo was mid mouthful. He chewed, grinning almost kid like. “Matters who you ask,” he said after swallowing.

She took a bite trying to figure out the riddle, waiting for him to explain. He finished his plate and drained the tea, grimacing a bit as he set the glass down.

“Chew has a rare condition, so he lives here where society can’t hurt him, and he can’t hurt society.”

The food was half-way masicated in her throat when he spoke, she sputtered a cough. He nudged her tea towards her. “Condition?” she asked weakly.

Kylo glanced over his shoulder as if double checking his uncle was still sleeping. “You’ll figure it out,” was all he would expand on.

He ate the rest of the casserole and took her plate when she finished. A clock above the stove ticked ten minutes after seven p.m. His back was turned to her as he washed each dish and finally the pan.

“I need to use the bathroom,” she said as he rinsed. “If you just want to tell me where to go, I’ll find it myself.”

Wiping his hands off on a towel, he waved at her to follow. “Your bedroom has a bathroom upstairs.” 

The singular use of her own bedroom gave her hope, and she followed him up a flight of creaky stairs to a small hallway. Again, the decorations were animals and stenciled in flowers, no photos, no people. It made her feel as if she’d entered a tea house. 

The other weird thing, bowls of potpourri were placed strategically along the hallway to the point it wasn’t entirely pleasant to breathe them in, and underneath there was something off, something that made her want to go back downstairs.

“We won’t stay here long.” He stopped in front of the second door to her right. “Don’t go anywhere without me, understood?”

Her skin prickled when he opened the door, the air was stale and musty, and horrifyingly familiar. There wasn’t just something off, there was something terribly wrong with this house. He was going to have to drag her into that room. “We need to leave.” Her skin was crawling. “Please.” She’d never forget that stench—it had been there at Maz’s funeral.

He didn’t look angry, instead his expression seemed apologetic. “It takes a while to get used to. Chewie’s dad was a mortician. They used the upstairs for viewing. Fifty years of business and no amount of scrubbing can quite take the scent away.”

He waved her in. “I’ll get your stuff out of the car. Take a shower, relax. It’ll feel like home in no time.”

“I’m a prisoner,” she spat.

“Stop being dramatic, you’re a guest.” He left the door open and moved past her. “Towels are in the closet.”

She waited till she heard the downstairs door open before going inside. The room included a king size bed with a brass frame. Throw pillows decorated the mattress along with a patchwork quilt. To compliment the room, a pink and gold armoire and two bedside tables etched with gold stenciled roses. And underneath it all, the subtle scent of death.

The bedroom had two large windows, and from one of them, she could see Kylo walk to the Chevy. The cat followed him like a puppy, and he stopped for a second to pet it. This was her captor, a man who seemed to go from controlling jerk, to country Joe. 

Annoyed and on edge, she went to the bathroom only to find it was in itself a small bedroom. Maybe Chewie’s parents had also been giants. It would explain why everything was two sizes bigger than normal. Her legs dangled an inch off the floor when she relieved herself on the toilet. 

There was a small internal debate on whether to shower. The deciding factor had been when she’d noticed the knob had a lock, ensuring at least he couldn’t just barge in. Her clothes had pit stains underneath, and sweat and dirt matted her hair. A very feral looking woman reflected back to her in the vanity mirror above the sink.

Once in the shower, the horrid smell was snuffed out, at least temporarily. The warmth of the water against her tired muscles felt so nice. She couldn’t help but linger in it till her skin started to prune. Reluctantly, she turned the water off. The towels were where Kylo had told her, and it was no surprise when she could wrap herself twice inside one of them.

There was a soft knock on the door.

“Clean clothes on the bed.” There was a pause. “It’s also non-negotiable that you wear them.”

She didn’t reply, not trusting herself to do anything but incite him. Her new game plan: play nice and wait for the uncle to wake up. If he wasn’t a psychopath, she’d convince him to take her into town, or maybe even let her just leave in her Chevy with all her stuff. 

Cracking the door open, she first checked to make sure she was alone. Finding this true, she glanced at the bed and the clothes.

Hell no.

A large shirt heavy with Kylo’s scent lay on the bed, along with a pair of her underwear. She gave the clothing the finger and turned back to the bathroom to get her old clothes. 

The door opened behind her, making her spin around to find Kylo looking annoyed. “This isn’t optional.” He ignored her glare and pointed to the bed. “My scent will cover the worst of the room’s odor and help you adjust.”

Arguing with him was pointless, she glanced over her shoulder. The bathroom had a lock. She could sleep in the tub all night.

“Try it, and my uncle will need a new door,” he growled before walking to the bed and snatching up the garments. “Put it on now.”

“No fucking way, we’re not mates.”

He rubbed the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath as if trying to wrestle his temper down. “It’s been a long day, and I’m tired. I don’t have patience for theatrics, so if you don’t put this on, I’m going to do it.” He held it out to her. “I’ll close my eyes and count to three.”

“Did you hear me? We’re not a couple.”

“One.”

His eyes squeezed shut. 

“Just give me my clothes, please.”

“Two.”

Damn him, he was still half-naked, and she didn’t need him seeing her undressed. Thrusting the shirt over her head, she let the towel drop to the ground. “Fine, give me a second to put my panties on.”

“Three.”

She’d half worked them on when he opened his eyes and smirked. Turning her back she sidled them up knowing he was looking at her ass. When one of his hands reached out to touch her hip, she smacked it away hard.

“If you touch me, I’ll do more than bite,” she snarled. “I won’t be easy.”

His eyes narrowed. A second later, her wrists were pinned above her head as he forced her against the wall, a loud  _ thunk _ sounding as she collided with it. One of his knees kept her legs from striking him. It had happened with such blinding fast speed she’d barely managed to struggle.

“Let’s get one thing straight.” His dark eyes holding her own. “I gave you a chance to stay with the cop. You could be cozy in a jail cell right now, waiting for a shitty lawyer who’ll ignore your statements and defend you enough to convince the license board he tried. But instead, you chose me.”

“I chose to escape with you...not--”

“Do you think you're going to just drop off the grid after killing Unkar Plutt?” He leaned close, pressing his cheek against hers, his lips next to her ear. “You killed a senator. Do you think there’s going to be anything but the death penalty for that?”

She paled, the terrible truth spoken out loud. Yes, she’d known the moment the knife had sunk into Plutt’s chest, there’d be no going back, but she’d hoped. Hoped that when the police had shown up, they’d find all the evidence she’d left and known it had been self-defense.

Hearing her worst fears out loud, said by  _ him _ , brought the fear and adrenaline rushing back to her. She couldn’t stop herself as the words poured from her mouth. 

“I--I thought I was just picking my sister up. It was a poshy address, and she’d used a code word. One when she’s in trouble. But I got there and--” She swallowed down a bitter lump. “He wasn’t going to let her leave. He was videotaping…” her voice broke. “They’ll find the tapes; they’ll be able to see it was self-defense.”

“Where’s the evidence?”

“At his house.”

His eyes held pity for her. The hold on her wrist released, but he gripped her shoulders, keeping her in place. “Kitten, do you know how corrupt that man is? If you didn’t grab any of it, it's gone.”

“Rose will vouch, she’ll tell them.”

He sighed and tucked a hair behind her ear. “She’s in rehab. You know how much water that testimony will hold.”

“He was going to torture her to death. Do you understand that?” She felt her eyes prick with tears. “I didn’t want to, I had to.”

“I know.” He used two fingers and tilted her chin up. “There’s nothing fair about this, so accept it.”

“And accept you?” she laughed, but there was no mirth in it. “Why, because you’re my only hope?”

He grabbed her hair and yanked it back hard enough she yelped. “Careful, kitten. I know you're scared, but you do not get to mock me.”

“You stole my car.”

“Yes, and rather easily, I might add. I told you there are worse monsters than me out there. I want more than to just fuck you, so how about we start there.”

“Let me guess, you have a white knight complex and wish to save the damsel in distress. The weaker sex?” She tried to wrench free, but he pulled hard, making her head smack the wall.

“I’ve allowed you to bite me and mark me. Do you smell another’s scent on me, do you see any mark on my body that declares I am another’s?” His breath was hot on her face, and she could feel the words coil with energy and rage. “I’m done playing nice.”

His hands let go, but instead of stepping back, he kissed her open mouth, dragging her to him. His tongue chased hers, and he almost lifted her off her toes to get his fill. The possessive nature in it made her respond, her body flushed against him and warmth pooled in her belly, making her arch her neck, making her beg him to bite. Her mind became fuzzy, and not from hitting the wall. 

When he let go, his pupils were dark enough she couldn’t see the color of his irises. Her free hands protectively moved to hide the open skin of her throat, begging him with her eyes to not do what seconds ago, her body had all but demanded.

He staggered back, reminding her of someone drunk. Instead of leaving, he stepped into the bathroom and grabbed her clothes. She knew why, and she did not dare try and stop him. If that would sate him enough to leave her be, then she would allow him this.

Suddenly, he stilled in the doorway, keeping his back to her. For a moment, she was afraid he’d changed his mind. “Tonight, and only tonight, you can sleep alone. But do not mistake my intentions. I will protect you, but I will not protect something that isn’t mine.”

With that, he left. She heard the click and knew even before she turned the handle the door was locked.

She stood there for a moment longer, her thoughts and body trying to catch up with each other. Finally, she moved towards the bed. There was nothing else to do, she reasoned, so she pulled back the covers and slid into bed. He must have stored clothes at the house, for the shirt she wore was almost thread bare. His scent wouldn’t just remind her of him, it would attach to her skin like a perfume. 

Her fingers gripped the fabric, drawing it to her nose. She inhaled deeply. Fine, she conceded, it was decidedly masculine and did cover the creepy death smell. 

One night, and tomorrow she'd run. 

Her dreams, however, revealed the truth. Her usual nightmare became warped, the events changed, but still, she found the truth in them. 

Unkar tried to kill her with the pillow again, but this time,  _ this time _ , he couldn’t get it over her face. 

Suddenly, her usual monster became a scared, fat man begging for his life. 

The knife stuck in his belly as he bled out on the floor.

Her hands were bloody, but Kylo was behind her, whispering in her ear.

“You could’ve saved him, isn’t that right, kitten?”

His voice was almost a purr. She tried to deny it, but he clucked his tongue and grabbed her wrist. He brought it up to her face so she could see the fresh tattooed black heart. It seemed to pulse in her vision. 

“That’s better, don’t you think?”

The sight of it should have made her sick, but it didn’t. Instead, she simply leaned against Kylo and said no more. No longer afraid, she watched Unkar plead with her over and over as he gasped in pain. He offered her money, everything he had, if she would only pick up the phone and save his life.


	4. Serendipitous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for the comments and kudos. They mean a lot. The first chapter will have commissioned art work, please take a look. It's an amazing job by Stavogin80.

The curtains billowed out through the open window, but something large blotted the sunlight. It took a second for Rey’s groggy mind to comprehend there was someone in her room.

“Hey,” she rubbed her eyes, rising on an elbow. “You could knock.”

The figure turned around, and it wasn’t Kylo. The hairs on her neck rose. 

_ Shit.  _

  
  


Kylo’s uncle, what was his name? Frantically, she searched her memory. Charles? No, it was something weird. Chew--Chewy! Chewy was dressed in an outfit from the seventies. He wore a silky floral shirt with bell bottom white pants. His feet were bare and covered in reddish hair. 

She was looking at those feet when they took a step closer.

“Hi, I’m Rey,” she tried to make her voice strong and confident, but it faltered when his lips twitched into a frown. “You have a nice dig--house.” 

The compliment did not elicit any response. Kylo’s earlier warning echoed in her brain. 

_ “He’s here so society can’t hurt him, and he can’t hurt society.” _

She noticed her bedroom door was cracked. Trying not to be too obvious, she measured the distance between the uncle and a sure escape.“I’ll find Ky--” remembering  _ Kylo _ was not his given name. “Your nephew.”

  
  


Her shirt barely covered her hips as she slipped out of bed. Chewy, however, wasn’t watching her with any lust--or sweeping her body with interest. No, his eyes studied her as one might a spider on the wall. 

She grabbed the hem of her shirt, keeping the material from riding up. The man’s nostrils flared and he huffed the air, scenting it--scenting her. 

Smiling with absolutely no sincerity behind it, she retreated a step. 

“Nice to meet you.”  _ Please don’t move. _ “Goodbye, now.”

The dull, brown eyes followed her, not completely without intelligence, but something more akin to an intelligent animal. He rubbed his mouth and she tried not to think of how her head could fit easily inside one of those large paws. 

  
  


Shit--how close was she to the door? 

Her hands searched for the knob as she back-peddled. Should she scream? Kylo couldn’t be far. What if he was dead? It wouldn’t take much for Chewy to break a neck, her own neck would probably snap like a toothpick. 

  
  


The floor behind her creaked loudly. The tickle of hot breath on her neck warmed her skin, creating a trail of goosebumps, as someone pressed close against her.

She screamed--or tried too--but a hand clasped over her mouth, muffling the sound. 

  
“Good morning, Kitten,” Kylo drawled quietly.

Kylo's presence was a relief. So much so, she didn’t protest his arm around her waist, trapping her against him, keeping her immobile. 

“Easy now,” he murmured. “Don’t scream. He doesn’t like screaming.” 

The hand around her mouth withdrew, but not before she tasted the residue of tree root, sweet grass, and earth. 

He focused his gaze on Kylo, and she felt Kylo stiffen. What felt like a long heartbeat passed between them, and in the next heartbeat, it was over. Chewy turned away from them toward the bed. 

“We’re okay now,” Kylo whispered in her ear. “He’s not usually this feral unless he’s been hunting.”

So much for hoping the uncle would be her salvation. 

  
  


“He’ll be here for hours. You’ve given him quite a bit of work.” Instead of walking with her, he picked her up, and carried her the few short steps out the door. 

Kylo planted her in the hallway, pulling the door shut with a soft click. Rey let out a deep breath. 

“Let’s leave, now.” 

“Kitten, I wouldn’t bring you here if I couldn’t protect you. Chew’s off a bit, and your unexpected presence startled him. But he’s harmless, I promise. Tomorrow, he’ll probably be making pies and chatting your ear off.”

“And if he’s not?”

Kylo shrugged. “We’ll stay in my room until he’s settled down. I wasn’t kidding about the amount of work you’ve given him.”

“What do you mean, work?” She couldn’t help but bristle at the remark. She’d barely touched the room, much less made a mess.

“He’ll do the same to my room if it makes you feel better; dust, straighten, and remove every hair that doesn’t belong.” He smirked, taking her hand before she could protest. “The FBI could fine comb this place and find no trace of our existence.”

“Wonderful,” she grumbled as he led her toward another door she suspected was his own room. When he opened it, she hesitated, but he tugged her inside like a puppy on a leash.   
  


The bedroom walls were light blue, but the paint had undertones of red and brown in it. Butterflies in glass lined the room, from small moths to large monarchs.

  
  


Her eyes drifted to the middle of the room. He’d moved the king sized bed against the wall to create enough space for the--she swallowed hard--unable to acknowledge the thing on the floor further.

He let go of her hand, no doubt hoping she’d gravitate on her own toward the centerpiece. 

“You’re uncle is quite the collector,” she said, grasping for a diversion, any diversion. She walked over to the farthest wall, which had an array of specimens. “This must have taken years to collect.”

It was easy to focus on the collection, the vibrant colors, the intricate designs, all pressed inside two pieces of glass. There were no borders to the frames, the collector wanted them to appear against the blue of the wall, as if in flight.    
  


Kylo joined her, tilting his head and studying the wall with her, as if they were at a museum appreciating art. She crossed her arms, keeping her body closed off.

“When I was five or six, I would try to catch them for my uncle,” he said, not looking at her. “Their wings are so fragile, and children's hands are rarely gentle, so I would end up crushing them. Chewy taught me how to find the cocoons. To raise them, and when they were strong enough--”

“To kill them,” she finished, disgusted.

“No, to set them free.” His fingers trailed up her back. “They don’t live long. Only weeks. It’s easy to tell when they are dying, or so my uncle told me. He would study them for hours. It’s not cruel, a second or two in the freezer, and then he’d painstakingly preserve them.”

A gray moth with a skull-like pattern on its back rested in a frame. “A death moth? They really exist?” She traced the design with her finger. “I mean, there was Jodie Foster’s movie with the serial killer. But I didn’t know if they fabricated the skull image on the moth. Do you watch movies? I bet your uncle has some--”   
  


“Kitten, there is nothing to be afraid of.” He touched the nape of her neck with his fingertips, gently massaging her skin as he tried to direct the conversation away from butterflies, and toward the centerpiece, he’d created. “I transplanted the softest grass I could find.”    
  


His voice was low, it rustled across her skin like a caress. Warmth pooled in her belly, her heartbeat quickened, not with fear, but worse, anticipation. Arousal pulled her taut like a piano wire. She closed her eyes, trying to plead with her body to calm the fuck down.

“The flowers are in bloom. Yarrow petals are the softest, but I found some white and blue ones with a nice fragrance.” He stroked her hair. “If I’d had more time, I could've woven you several braids in the grass. I only managed one. To circle the--”

“There has to be fifty different--butterflies.” Her words stumbled as she tried to draw the conversation back toward the wall. A verbal game of tug-of-war. “They--can’t all be native? They...they look trapped, in the glass, not preserved. It feels wrong--all of it.”The last three words she whispered, but she doubted the double meaning was lost on him. 

“There is no beauty in things kept in unnatural settings,” he agreed. 

Gently, he turned her to face him, using two fingers to raise her chin. “What you fear to look at in this bedroom is not your glass frame. I did not capture you, so I could still your wings.”   
  


“You made me a cradle circle,” she whispered, looking at her bare feet, and finally, when the silence was too much, at him. 

“I did.”

There was nothing else to do but greet the elephant in the center of the room. 

The nest was enormous, large enough they could lay down within its bed comfortably. The long grass he’d collected hadn’t been haphazardly placed, but arranged within the base. The braid was thick as his arm encircled it. The flowers woven throughout spoke of skill and patience, such attention to detail made her shiver in appreciation. 

She rubbed her arms. “You made this after you left my room?”

“I declared my intent.”

“I thought--”

“I would bite you and take the bond by force?”

“Yes.” _ Was the cradle circle a trap? _ “Are you going to, now?”

“I have ripped men apart. Broken bones with little care for the pain it caused,” he growled. “I will do far more to any man or woman who attempts to harm you. Lay in the grass, accept my protection.”

Could he honestly expect her to fulfill this part of the ritual? She didn’t even know his real name, and he didn’t know hers. 

The snarky remarks in her throat bubbled to the surface, but also something else, the itching desire to run and be caught. There was nothing docile in her. She was not a submissive. 

She showed him her teeth.

  
  


His lip curled and he answered it, baring his canines.

_ Holy shit _ . 

She took a step back. 

Her pulsepoint tingled and she rubbed it before realizing Kylo’s eyes had taken on a darker tone, watching that hollow spot. She forced her hand down, trying not to stare at the point of his skin she needed to bite. The saliva production in her mouth increased. 

“I’d like to get dressed.” 

He kept a neutral face, but his body shifted slightly, keeping his frame between her and the door. The two trash bags she’d stuffed her belongings in lay on the ground, unnoticed till she’d looked beyond the nest.

The dance. Consciously or unconsciously, they were in it. He wouldn’t want her to remove his shirt heavy with his scent.    
  


Making sure to go nowhere near the cradle circle, she walked over to her belongings. His chest rumbled, warning her. She ignored it, giving him her back, knowing the gesture would be infuriating. 

She changed, but tied his shirt around her waist. Her clothes were light, something that would allow her a wide range of motion.

“What would you like for blankets?” His tone was placating again. “There are trunks under the house with animal skins, they would be soft. Mostly rabbit, but maybe a mynx or two.”

The pheromones in the air were thick now. 

“Breakfast?” she deflected. They needed to eat. She needed to eat. She pulled a small bag from the bottom of the trash bag, which held her toothbrush, hair ties, and other hygienic items. Like her room, this one had a bathroom.

“I can’t cook, but eggs and toast wouldn’t be too hard.” He leaned against the door, crossing his arms. 

The victory was small. He had to provide for her. Hundreds of years ago it would have been a deer or hare, but in 2020, it was whatever he could pillage from the fridge. 

Assertive, she had to be assertive. 

“I want bacon. Kill a pig if you have to.” 

Sweat beaded on her forehead. The ache in her neck was throbbing, a painful reminder biology was egging her on to mate. Her voice quivered, trying to keep the heat out of it. “I’ll come downstairs when it’s done.”

“Anything else?” He spread his arms, the gesture no longer simply in question, but so she’d become aware of the size of him, and what he could offer her. Nothing done today would be random.

She’d given him a request. To further instruct would be to let the ball go back in his corner. She sniffed the air and gave him her back again.

“Kitten--” 

He growled, but she heard no more as she slammed the bathroom door. Her heart beat in her ears as she leaned against it. Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. The words felt like a prayer. What was she doing? Buying time, or actually considering the offer?

Brushing her teeth, she tried to think of an escape plan. But every time she focused, her thoughts drifted back to him. 

  
  


Po’Boy had stated over and over again that he’d not bit Red out of puppy love. 

_ “Mates are for more than reproduction, Clover. We choose one and it’s for life. Why else would the gland exist? Why the deep connection after? We bite because a lone wolf dies, we bite because we need companionship to survive.” _

She spit in the sink and looked at her reflection. Her cheeks were flushed and her pupils dilated. Stroking her neck, she felt the gland. It was swollen, puffing the skin slightly. As the ritual continued, it would become enlarged, enough he’d notice. Nature’s way of drawing a clear map, for the mate to correctly break the skin and complete the bond, by permanently marking her.    
  


She washed the sink out. Using her fingers, she worked her hair into three buns, tying them tightly in the back. The scent of bacon wafted up, making her stomach clench. The next breath she drew elicited a purr. 

Her brain might be considering running away, but her body had other plans. 

Quietly, she opened her bedroom door. The hall was empty. When she was satisfied it was safe--or safe enough, she tip-toed past the room Chewy was cleaning. A rustle from within the bedroom made her rethink the tip-toeing, and she beelined for the stairs. She didn’t look back, afraid to find the uncle had decided to squash her like a bug after all.

  
  


When Kylo had said he couldn’t cook, he hadn’t been lying. Rey walked into the kitchen to find a hot mess of epic proportions. The bacon on the stove was the only thing going right. A plate with burnt eggs sat pitifully on the table, next to the blackened toast he’d tried to hide by slathering it with jam.

When he noticed her, he waved her to the table. “I’m trying to make you something…” he looked at the stove “…edible.”

“Sit down.” She didn’t mean it as an order, but it snapped out, making him huff. “Please.”

The  _ please _ was in a softer tone. It took the sting out of the command, and he accepted, handing her a spatula. 

“Fried or scrambled?” she asked

“Fried, runny if you can.” One of his arms draped across the table, the other over the backrest of his chair. She could see a smile on his lips. 

She didn’t know how to fry an egg, and for some reason, she’d assumed it would be easy. Thankfully, when she’d put the plates in front of them both, Kylo hadn’t even batted an eye at his two eggs that had broken and fallen apart when she’d tried to flip them. He grabbed the salt and pepper shaker, applying it liberally. Well, at least they had that they were both shitty cooks in common.

“How long are we going to stay here?” She shoveled a forkful of eggs in her mouth. They tasted awful. Kylo handed her the salt, smirking. 

“I don’t know.” He took a bite of toast, making almost half of it disappear. “You might need some adjustment time. I’ve never done this before.” 

The subject took her appetite, but she still ate her food in silence, tasting nothing. 

“It’s for practical reasons, as well,” he said softly, as he kept his pose non-threatening across the table. “I’ll know if you’re in danger.”

“I’ll cycle.” 

“I’ll go into rut. I know, it’s going to be complicated. I can’t turn off biology without dulling what I need to protect you. I’ll talk up a game during rut, but you have to know it’ll be all talk.” His voice faltered and he rubbed the back of his neck, his expression a shade embarrassed. “We can prevent any chance of a baby. I’ll drink thistle tea, should keep me sterile.”

Instead of relief that he wasn’t expecting a brood for her to tend, she felt despair. 

_ No children. Her nest would be empty. He would deny her motherhood.  _

The racing thoughts made her clench her fists, digging her nails into her palms till the pain made her focus. 

_ Lovely, I’m going to go maternal, now. _

Her body ignored her protest as it geared itself for being in heat. The typical estrous period would be three days to a week. Heat would show up every thirty to sixty days, and if she didn’t take suppressants, her body would literally beg her to reproduce. If Kylo’s thistle tea didn’t work, getting knocked up would be a sure thing. With her luck, she’d be the one out of four who had twins. 

Why was she even considering this?

“You can control me better. That fucking voice you’ll use, and I’ll obey without thought after you bite me.” She glared at him, refusing to break eye contact. “Without suppressants, you’ll have the upper hand.”

“Yes,” he admitted, his lips drawing into a hard line. “We are in a game of life and death.”

“I grew up on the street, I know how to take care of myself.”

“You have basic skills, but you do not have the tools needed to survive being hunted. I can show you how to fight. How to kill. I can make you deadly enough that killing Unkar Plutt wasn’t just a lucky break.”

“How do you know?” I might have planned it all along, killing him.”

  
  


“You lived by the skin of your teeth. Don’t bluff with me.”

“I cut you, you didn’t see that coming.”

“I knew you had something, but I pushed you to see how far you would go.”

“Now who’s bluffing?” She crossed her arms. Fuck him. He acted like he planned the whole damn thing, down to the blown tire.

“You worked waiting tables, odd jobs, right?” He wasn’t insulting her, though she felt her pride prickle a bit. “I can tell you’re not stupid, you enjoy literature, though you haven’t an education past high school. Probably think you understand the dangers of what lie ahead, having grown up with gangs and violence outside your bedroom.”

She didn’t answer, agreeing with him seemed redundant.

“So you think, I’ll go use this fake ID. Maybe you’re smart enough to cut your hair. Dye it. You might even manage to hunker down for a while. If this was Vegas and I had to bet, I’d give you six months before they caught you.”   
  


“Thanks.” She glowered. “What else does your crystal ball say?”

“You’ll be executed, not in prison. You’ll never make it that far.”

The turn in conversation made her sit up straighter. His tone was calm, but his eyes held no mirth. “Do you know the word ‘Serendipitous’?”

“Finding something good without looking for it,” she answered. He reached across the table and rested a hand on her crossed arms. The move didn’t feel intimate, but as if he was preparing her for some awful truth.

“Let me tell you who I am. Not my name, but who I am.” He paused, maybe for effect, but she thought to give her a moment. “I’m a contract killer. I’m not part of a gang, haven’t been in years, but I work within them and other organizations. I told you, I don’t kill innocent people. I kill for rivalries, unpaid debts, a rat within the group; I hunt them down, for a price. I rarely kill women, and never children.”

Her mouth was dry. Holy fuck. Was he lying? Could he be just as crazy as his uncle upstairs? She shivered involuntarily, her skin under his fingertips going cold. He continued.

  
  


“My mother is a state prosecutor. My father was a cop. I’m a huge disappointment. They knew I was trouble, just not how. I kept them in the dark as much as I could. Only came home a couple times a year.

He shrugged, a gesture meant to show indifference, but Rey doubted he’d have come home if family hadn’t mattered to him. As if to echo her thoughts he rubbed the bridge of his nose, and grinned at nothing on the floor. No doubt remembering something from the recesses of his past that was good. When his eyes met hers again, the indifference was gone, replaced by something that looked very close to sadness.

“We’re a dysfunctional, happy family. I stay out of Vegas, don’t want to accidentally trip over dad or his coworkers.” He laughed, but it wasn’t a joke she could follow. It died in his throat, and his tone turned bitter. “One night, I get a phone call. It’s an unlisted number. I don’t exactly carry a traceable phone.”

He paused and looked away. His hand slipped from her arms, resting on the table. She relaxed her rigid posture, oddly feeling the need to comfort him. 

“It was short, a simple, ‘ I love you, son.’” Kylo’s teeth clenched hard enough that she heard them clink. “I knew. But for the first time in my life, I ignored common sense. I jumped on my bike, and rushed to the house. Dad was there, so was a gun with my fingerprints. The police, alerted by the real killer, descended shortly.”

“Why would they set you up?”

“Kill two birds with one stone.” He shifted back in his seat, more relaxed, as he led her down the path of how he’d come to be on the side of the road. “Taking me down prevented me enacting retribution. But the bigger picture, they needed to make the case a slam dunk to take any suspicion off motive.”

“Why was your father killed?”

His lips pressed together and he squeezed her hand. “I wasn’t entirely truthful when I met you.”

_ No shit, Sherlock. _ “About what?”

“I read the guard all right. I knew in the moment that passed between him and the driver they planned to kill me. Probably make it look like I staged an attack. But the people who did the hiring hired a dumb as fuck prison guard who pissed himself the moment my hand was wrapped around his throat. He didn’t know as much information as the driver, but they told me enough.

Dad discovered Snoke, the Chief of Police’s brother, had roughed up a whore. Not a black eye, but some pretty sick shit, the girl claimed this fucker had video taped it all.”

Rey couldn’t help it, her body started to shake. 

“The Chief offered money for silence, but Dad wouldn’t drop it. The Chief’s brother was a politician, a senator. Both their jobs were in jeopardy if Dad talked.”

  
  


His words brought back her own memories of Unkar’s house. How sterile it had smelled. The rich decorations, the plush furniture. But as she’d searched, trying to find Rose, the smell of cleaning agents hit her. There were six containers of bleach in the hallway, plastic bags, and tape. She’s been so scared thinking her sister was already dead, only to hear Rose screaming. She’d screamed for Po, screamed for Rey, screamed for her mother, Maz.

The air around Rey felt thin. “Unkar Plutt” she drew in another deep breath struggling for air, “is Snoke’s brother?”

  
  


“Serendipitous kitten, now take a breath. Take another one.” He was suddenly in front of her. His lips moving slowly as he breathed with her. “That’s a good girl. Take another deep breath.”   
  


His mouth found her neck and he gently sucked on her pulse point. The area was already sensitive, and she whimpered. The effect was instantaneous, her body went pliant, her breathing slowed.

Without a word, he lifted her up. “Did you like killing Unker?” he asked as he carried her back upstairs.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she nuzzled under his neck, making his chest rumble. Fate was cruel, but maybe fate was also kind. She licked his skin, suckling it slightly, knowing it would elicit a reaction, if he wasn’t in rut, he would be soon. The arms carrying her tightened. 

The illusion of escape was gone, but the road ahead would be her own. He could instruct her, but he wouldn’t master her. She nipped his pulsepoint, dragging the skin under her teeth. He wrenched the door open to his bedroom, groaning. 

As he prepared to lay her down in the cradle circle, she wrapped her arms vice-like around his neck, burrowing her face in his shoulder. He paused, bending on one knee. 

“I would kill him again and again,” she whispered in his ear. He tried to disengage her, but she would not submit. Not yet. She nipped once more, a small warning. 

His fingers dug into her skin, the rumble in his chest deepening. He tore her free, her teeth snapping the air.

“Do you think to bite me first?”

The grass underneath her was soft, and as she settled inside, her hands crushed the scattered flower petals, releasing their fragrance. She accepted the gift, but it didn’t mean the dance was over. She bared her teeth, daring him to come closer.

He peeled off his clothes, watching her. Want and hunger flashed in his eyes, but maybe they were only a reflection of her own. He rested on his knees, naked. 

  
  


“We’ll see kitten, we’ll see.”


End file.
